by Eric Flint
* * *
Svend gathered up all the papers that Captain Foxe still retained, along with his book. He then had to find a place in the hall to keep them dry as he struggled into his coat and knit cap. A fine skifting of snow had found its way into the hall. When the door was opened, they were greeted by over six inches of fluffy, new fallen snow, with more still lightly falling. The neighborhood was quiet as a graveyard. Luckily, the snow packed down enough to keep the cobble stones from becoming dangerous underfoot. After a few minutes of walking, John broke the silence and spoke of his visit to the kitchen. When he mentioned that Agnes had loaned Svend a book, Luke inquired about the title.
“It’s a copy of a book from Grantville that Sir Thomas bought for her, Peter Pan . It describes a magical land, pirates, and the adventures of a group of lost boys. I promised Agnes to return it next week.”
“Make sure you keep that promise! You’re likely to be going there on business frequently and you don’t want to ruin your reputation. The young lady has trusted you with an important item. When I spoke with your mother the other day about your assistance, she spoke highly of your trustworthiness.” He paused a moment, considering his next words, “We also spoke of your future. I need a good assistant who can be counted on. The skills your father taught you on navigation may come in very handy when we start exploring the new land. Would you be interested in the job? Think it over carefully because you would be gone for several years.”
Svend’s smile grew from ear to ear. “Mother and I already discussed this and I’ve thought and dreamed about it a lot. I don’t need any extra time, the answer is yes!”
“Good, I’ll sign you on as a member of the expedition, as Captain’s Clerk, after breakfast tomorrow.
* * *
After a short, leisurely stroll along the docks the next morning, to help settle breakfast, Luke spoke with Mette for over an hour. He wanted her opinions on the various merchants he would be doing business with over the next few months; securing supplies he needed for the expedition. Her familiarity with most of the merchants in the harbor area was immensely valuable. Unlike Bamberg, she also had some pointed comments on the trustworthiness of some. Luke pointedly ignored Svend’s squirming figure outside the kitchen door during the discussion, but finally broke down.
“Mette, I think your son has something to say. He’s been very good for not interrupting, but I think I better let him have his say before he explodes from trying to hold it in.”
With a look of mild concern on her face, Mette turned to Svend. “Is there something I need to know?”
“At the meeting yesterday, the departure date for the expedition was set. They plan to leave in March.”
Luke was surprised by Mette’s reaction to Svend’s announcement. She turned toward him with a sad look, not the response that he had expected. For some reason, his heart seemed to flutter.
Oblivious to the byplay, Svend continued. “The captain has asked me to join the expedition as his clerk, with your approval. He says we will probably be gone for a couple of years.”
Mette smiled. “Of course you have my permission. You’ve always been your father’s son. I knew someday you would leave, I just hoped you wouldn’t go so far away.” She reached for Luke’s hand. “I trust you to take good care of my oldest.”
Luke realized Mette had left a lot unsaid. He felt twenty years younger. “Svend has a very bright future. We will need someone who can learn navigating overland and can keep a logbook. His father taught him well. I‘ll make sure that he stays out of trouble.” He looked at Svend. “We have a lot to get done. Be ready to leave for the ship in ten minutes.”
Luke's heart felt like a ship rising to the top of a rogue wave as he whispered to Mette as Svend was leaving. “We’ll talk some more when we have some privacy and time.” Her warm smile sent Luke off with a spring in his step.
Chapter 6
Early December 1633—West Bank of the North River
"Heave! Heave!" Each explosive pull inched the Rotterdam up the extended slipway of the dry dock. Dockworkers slathered on grease with huge straw brushes to ease the ship further into the berth. The temporary expansion of the dry dock’s slipway to accommodate the fregätten had taken de Vries almost a month to complete, instead of his original estimate of two weeks.
Joris stood next to the dock master, watching his ship rise out of the water. The last hectic week, emptying the ship of all cannon and stores to lighten it to reduce its draft, had left his crew exhausted. Now, the critical point was fast approaching. He yelled at the crew on the ground, holding the lines to the mast tops. "Steady on those lines! Keep them taut!"
This was the critical point in the effort. If the lines weren't kept taut, the ship could topple in the dry dock. Everyone was struggling to use the last of the tide to pull the ship clear of the water. Their breaths steamed in the late fall afternoon. Two more turns of the capstan brought the ship as far up the slipway as it could go. Immediately, dockworkers swarmed around the dripping hull, setting braces to stabilize the ship. When the foreman yelled that it was secured, the ship's crews on the lines eased off and let out a cheer. Van den Broecke just let out a long sigh. He'd been holding his breath from the tension.
The dock master leaned over the side and pointed to the site where they had struggled throughout the journey to stem a leak. "See there, Captain? You were lucky to have made it here. It looks like you took a hit as you rose on a wave. The butt ends are sprung and the frame member is damaged. It's going to be at least a month before we can finish this properly."
Van den Broecke wasn't happy. "I've got to report to Tjaert. He'll want to know how long until we can sail again." He fixed the dock master with a hard stare. "You're sure it's going to be a month? A lot of lives could be in jeopardy if you run longer."
Huetjen bristled at the comment. "Captain, I know my business. With your crew to help, we'll be done by the new year. I commanded a ship once, too, before I lost my leg." He slapped his peg leg for emphasis. "I know what you're going through, watching it stuck on dry land. It’s like losing a child. I'll hurry the work as fast as I can." He paused, pointing at the damaged planking. "You'll get it back when that's as good as new! I have family here and we need both your ships if we're to survive."
The captain chuckled. "Very well. I'll leave my child in your care, doctor. Get her well soon." He swung himself over the side and carefully slid down a rope. When he reached the ground, he proceeded to slowly walk around the ship, surveying the newly exposed damage before he set off in search of Tjaert to let him know that he would be sailing alone on his planned cruise after Christmas. Joris wasn't too concerned. In these waters, even one Dutch fregätte should be more than a match for anything she met. If she wasn't, a whole fleet probably wouldn't be enough.
* * *
In preparation for the council of war, Tjaert de Groot had spent the previous two weeks surveying the fortifications around New Amsterdam. He had even sailed the Friesland up the river as far as he could safely take her to "scout out the territory" as he told von Twiller. Tjaert then met with a few key members of the colony to learn more about the Dutch settlements further upriver. He wanted to lay the groundwork for his future plans.
During his discussions, Tjaert had learned that the debate over how to proceed had settled into three factions amongst the settlers. Some of the leaders weren't sure if there really was a threat and certainly didn't want to spend any more money paying workers to strengthen the fort's defenses. Von Twiller led this group. Others wanted to abandon New Amsterdam and return to the Netherlands immediately. The rest wanted to stay and fight, if they had to, to protect their lands. The council had been called to decide what the colony would do. When it came time for Captain de Groot's turn to speak, he surprised everyone.
"I agree with the Director General. I don't think we should spend anything on the fort here ."
In the outcry that followed, only van Rensselaer noticed the slight emphasis on the word here .
As the turmoil started to settle, he spoke up. "I think the captain has something to add."
"Thank you, Mijnherr. New Amsterdam is a wonderful city, but it is undefendable. Any force that is sent will have naval support and troops. The frontier forts at home work because the Spanish only attack from one direction. Here, an attacker can land troops on one side of the town, sail around the island and land troops at a second site, and then bombard the fort from a third. The Friesland and the Rotterdam cannot and will not be tied down to defend a city that cannot be saved." Tjaert tried to drive that point home as hard as he could. These tight fisted patroons would never pay enough to match the prize money his crews could make raiding the French and English. Raiding also hurt the enemy a lot more!
"But what choice do we have?" exclaimed a patroon in the back of the crowd. "I'll do whatever I must to defend my home, but I need to know what that is!"
"I'm glad you asked." De Groot's smile looked a lot like the one the mouse saw on the cat that had caught it. "Your house is near Orange?"
The patroon just nodded yes.
"While New Amsterdam is undefendable, the colony is defendable, but only upriver. If any fortifications are to be built, the effort must be made there. I've spoken with a number of traders and took the Friesland to scout the site in person. About twenty-five miles north, there is a spot along the river that's ideal for a fort. It's on high ground and could be defended from water attack with a log boom. Our fregätten are offensive weapons. We can do more good raiding the French and English shipping than sitting at anchor. We will work out of New Amsterdam and will fight if the enemy appears while we're in port, but the colony must be prepared to abandon the city if a large force appears."
Three merchants were immediately on their feet shouting for recognition. The Director General cut them off. "I understand your concern. We cannot possibly abandon the city now. It's the dead of winter. Captain, you must reconsider."
Tjaert just stared at him.
Van Rensselaer stood up. "If I might make a suggestion." Everyone turned to Kiliaen, because he had given no indication to that point where he stood. "Wouter is right. It is the dead of winter." He turned to face de Groot and gave a slight wink that went unnoticed by the group. "Captain de Groot, shipping off the Banks is slim this time of year. One ship should be more than enough to handle what's there. The other one can stay in port, finish refitting, and act as an additional defense for the colony. They can trade places by spring and we would be able to finish refitting both your ships completely, at our expense.” Wouter winced when he realized what that statement meant to his purse. “Then, when the shipping season resumes, you both could cruise for prizes." He clasped his hands on the table. "In the meantime, construction of the fort you suggested could be started. Since it will benefit my manor upriver, I'd be willing to supply the land and pay for the work through the winter. We could revisit the issue in the spring. Who knows? We may even get good news and find our fears were unfounded. If the French never come, we keep our expenses down. I also think an embassy to our investors back home would be in order. After all, the charter does require them to help in our defense."
The city merchants nearly fell over themselves in support. Tjaert and Kiliaen looked at each other and nodded. Their plan had gone exactly as they had hoped. Tjaert would get his base for raiding and Kiliaen a base if the French ever came and possibly men, guns, and money to bolster defenses around his lands. It would also cover up his nephew’s misappropriation of the fort’s building funds.
Chapter 7
December 1633, Copenhagen
Luke sighed as he, John Barrow, and Factor Bamberg entered the shop of Gammel Bundgaard. Three fruitless weeks of excuses and apologies from Copenhagen's ships' chandlers and supply houses had finally convinced him that Mette's comments about who he would have to buy from were true. If he was going to get the cannon, gunpowder and small arms the expedition needed, his only choice would be to buy the needed supplies from Bundgaard. A cousin to the king's Minister of War, Bundgaard had the sole concession to sell military arms in Copenhagen. He used his monopoly to force people who wanted to buy armaments to also purchase their other supplies from him. Since word had gotten out that the expedition wanted to buy weapons, other potential suppliers were suddenly unable to meet Luke's requests or their prices were twice the rate they had been when Luke first started planning. Bundgaard had made a take it or leave it offer to supply all the expedition's needs. He hinted that the other suppliers knew what was good for them and Luke should too. His price was slightly higher than planned, but even Bamberg agreed, "He may be a scoundrel, but if we are going to sail on time, he's your only choice." With no other options and time getting short, it was time to negotiate the best deal they could get with Bundgaard.
"Greetings, Captain Foxe!" The owner met them at the door.
Bundgaard reminded Luke a little of a fictional character Svend had described, except without the hook. There were two unsavory looking toughs lounging near the fire who didn't bother to move when the owner greeted Luke.
Luke quickly got down to business. "We're here to finalize the order for the expedition. I brought Adolphus along because we need to add some additional mining tools to the list." Bamberg handed over a short list. "Can you supply these by the end of February?"
Bundgaard read the list. "I should have no trouble and your cost will be reasonable. Come into my office and we can work out the contract's details."
Luke thought Bundgaard's eyes reflected the stacks of coins he was expecting to count.
An hour later, after some serious haggling over terms and dates, Luke's party emerged. "Very well, half now and the remainder by the first of February. All supplies to be delivered by February fifteenth. My crews will load from your warehouse by the docks."
* * *
Once outside, Bamberg turned to Luke. "I hope we did the right thing. I don't have a very good feeling that we’re going to get what we paid for."
"I know what you mean, Adolphus, but as you said before, what choice do we have?"
* * *
A short, stout Dutch captain and his bosun headed straight for the shop Luke's party had just left. When they entered, the two toughs immediately stepped over and blocked their way. "We're here to see that swindler, Bundgaard. Those provisions he sold us for our last voyage were mostly barrels filled with stone and sawdust. My men almost starved because of his thievery."
"Fister Bundgaard does not want to see you!" Both men blocked the doorway to the office Bundgaard had retreated into. The captain tried to force his way past, but one of the toughs tried to deck him with a roundhouse punch. The captain ducked, and then tripped over a chair, smashing it to splinters.
When the second tough moved in, the bosun pulled a belaying pin from inside his jacket and waded in to help his captain. Bundgaard emerged from his office with a cudgel and joined the fight.
Karl and his patrol were passing by and heard the commotion. About the time Karl reached the shop, the front door flew open and the fighters fell through the doorway in a mass of bodies, fists and weapons. The patrol judiciously applied their cudgels. In a few moments, the fighters lost all interest in each other.
"Who are you and how did this start?" Karl asked the captain.
Bundgaard interrupted before the captain could say a word. "These hooligans broke into my shop and attacked my men. I'm Gammel Bundgaard and I'm . . . "
Thunk! A quick rap with a cudgel by Gunnar silenced Bundgaard immediately.
"You were about to tell me before we were so rudely interrupted . . . " Karl said.
The captain picked himself up. He wiped the snow and dirt from his clothes and the blood from his lips. "I'm Piet van Hoorne, captain of the ship Maastricht . This swindler sold me provisions on my last stop here. Instead of salt meat and fruit, most of the casks and kegs were filled with stones and sawdust. My crew nearly starved. I came to get my money back!"
“That’s a lie!” Bundgaard shouted. “You tr
ied to attack and rob us. Sergeant, I demand that these men be locked up!” Like two bantam roosters, Bundgaard and van Horne tried to start fighting again.
Karl grabbed the fighters by their collars, “This is a job for the magistrate. You are both going to jail until we can straighten this out.”
Sputtering and trying to get out of Karl’s hold, Bundgaard threatened, “Don’t you know who I am? I have friends in very high places. Your commander won’t like this.”
“I’ve been in trouble with the commander before. I’ve heard stories about you. You’ll get your say before a magistrate,” Karl said.
* * *
The next morning, Karl got a summons to see his commander as soon as he arrived for his shift. The commander rose from his desk, walked over, slammed the door shut and got right in Karl’s face. “What the hell did you think you were doing arresting Gammel Bundgaard? His cousin is one of the King’s ministers. You should have just hauled that fat Dutchman and his crewman in and let it go at that. We’re supposed to protect the people that pay us. Foreigners can rot in jail for all I care!”
Karl interrupted. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about Bundgaard, and they are all unsavory. He’s a cheat and a thief. I decided to let the magistrate sort it out. Next time, maybe, I’ll act differently.”
“If there is a next time, you won’t need to bother because you’ll be out of a job. As of now, you and your patrol work the dock area at night, until I decide differently. Now, get out!”
Karl left, muttering under his breath, “Maybe I should look into becoming a farmer.”
Chapter 8
January 1634, off the Grand Banks
The Friesland descended on the fishing fleets off the Grand banks like a hawk on a flock of chickens. The first sign for the fishing boat captains that something was amiss were the clouds of smoke on the horizon from burning boats. After the third ship was fired, the fishing boats started to scatter. The Friesland pursued and continued to capture boats, with a warning shot across their bows. Boarding parties were then sent to secure the boats until the Friesland returned. By late afternoon, four more boats had been captured and were hove to in a loose group awaiting their fate. In all, a very small Spanish trawler, an English dogger and a smaller fishing boat, and four smaller French fishing boats had been captured.